NightPoetry

how the story goes

you once  said that I was the most annoying person you have ever met. so i just smiled and nodded because i’ve heard that before.

you once said, just maybe i wasn’t that bad because i always gave you a smoke even if it was the last one in the pack. so i just smiled and nodded because eventually, everyone who offers you their last smoke grows on you.

you once said, you ended up accustomed to me, that you almost didn’t hear me anymore when i was ranting. so i just smiled and nodded because you grow accustomed to everything.

you once said you didn’t like to be alone that night. so i just smiled and nodded because no one likes to be alone in a cold night when you’ve forgotten to pay the heating bill.

and then you said that you didn’t want me to go. ever. because your place is so quiet without my heals echoing in your corridor, because your ears are tuned to the wrong frequency when i’m stop talking, because you can’t stand the silence when i’m not lying beside you, philosphying about your dusty, old furniture.

you said, after all this time, i got closer to you than all the others that have lived their way through your life. and that you like me. a lot.

so then i couldn’t smile or nod anymore.

i didn’t believe you.

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I guess it’s best this way, at least that’s what you said

and I think I agree

but, see, there’s this tiny little voice inside of me

saying: Guess what we could have had…

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it seems almost pathetic, no actually, I’m pretty sure it is

that I’m still that little over-enthusiastic going-off and on-about-you-kid

but the thing is i can’t actually control

and really, if you have to be so awesome, it’s kind of a bit of … your fault.

i know well that i don’t know you and i most probably never will

but your a nice man-shaped projection of what i dream of still

just someone as funny, someone as bright, someone as happy, someone in sight

head in the air, feet not touching the ground

the main problem is that over here, there’s no one quite like that around.

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hey stranger,

you know, at the end of the day, all that keeps me going is the hope you’ll be with me one of these days.

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my heart is like a cardboard box

well…it’s not exactly square and it’s bigger than most boxes by far

but, based on the idea, i think it’s pretty similar.

it sure has a lot of room in it, I mean, for feelings and such, not dirty socks,

also you can’t really see it but, needless to say, it’s there

when you handle my cardboard-heart, you’ve got to take care,

because it’s also quite fragile when you handle it wrong for a start,

see, if you hold it too tightly, or let go too soon, it will surely fall apart.

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How I feel? -How someone must feel who can’t find his heart although he knows perfectly well where to look for it.

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and not because

so alone with you and at that, so desperately alone with myself.

and there’s me, planting all these little trees, these foundations and silently watching you tear them down.

and as much as i want you to have those wings you deserve, i want you to grow your roots here just as bad.

not necessarily right here, just where i’m at, so you can land at my side when you’re tired of flying.

and not because it’s what i wish it but because you want it.

and not because i could promise you to love you forever but because you could do the same.

and not because you’re polite and well-mannered but because you don’t have to try hard to be this way around me.

i think i hardly ever had so much i wanted for christmas.

and i think it was ever less propable that i’ll end up with what i wanted.

but it doesn’t matter does it? not to you.

because you will go. you will leave like they all did.

and not because you don’t like me but because you just don’t like me

enough.

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okay, fine, i’ll admit.

you’re more than okay, you’re actually a tiny bit perfect.

but if once you’re wrong, you’re so damn wrong, it makes me sick.

and a perfect being doesn’t mistake, that’s what you said.

because I may not say it, if i would, you’d get mad.

okay, fine, so you are amazing and you do know a lot

but you know nothing about me and about how to be a man.

being you, that’s the one thing you can

effortlessly do, that is your appeal.

you’re so good at being yourself, it throws me head over heals.

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i would love to say something really elevated now.

something like…

we’re both stranded, but we survived, we’re still here, you’re still here.

and that is all i need.

but i can’t possibly say that because it would be a lie.

we’re not stranded and i don’t need you that much either.

all i need is this idea, this hope that, at the end of the day, there’s someone waiting for me.

and it doesn’t matter if that’s you or the guy who delivered the pizza or the one that drives the bus.

see, it’s not fair, i can’t tell you that.

still, it’s fact; we’re not stranded and this “us” is not all that i have.

i have nothing, nothing but this idea and your shadow dancing on my walls.

but i can’t tell you that.

you wouldn’t understand.

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“if we’ve come so far that you have to choose between burning out inside or freezing to death from all that hate outside, it’s propably too late to turn and walk the other way?”, asked the girl, tilted her head and stared past his green-brown eyes because it wouldn’t matter what he’d say, she already knew the answer.

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come on, let’s go play. out to the big field. do that sommersault.

And then we’ll sit on the sidewalk and drink some cheap booze.

like alice in wonderland. because she would have taken that booze, sure she would’ve.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

 

It’s a secret

-BLUE-

 

A moment in time. In eternity. Or an eternity within a moment. I can’t quiet recall the time I’ve been sitting on the white painted wooden chair, focussing, losing focus and concentrating again to look at the pretty face in front of me. His eyes. The way they stare, a meaningless, empty stare.

And me, sitting, waiting for something – anything – that probably won’t happen – and even if it did, I probably would not notice it happening, because I hardly notice anything at all anymore.

So many things lost their point in the very moment that he told me the truth.

I feel the cold surrounding us, drowning me like thick water. Blue schemes of dust and dirt transform the room we inhabit into another world.

Silently.

We stay as the lights fade – or just seem to fade. Because I can still see his eyes, his stare, glowing through my darkness.

Where am I going? Going on my one-way-ticket to his destination. And I don’t understand a single word of what’s not being said right now.

We sit in blueish light, in heavy sighs, alone, in the deep silence that follows a secret which is a secret no more. And all turns colder.

I think this is how it feels when you freeze to death. When your soul’s drained in red and yellow memories and you feel their heat and fire burning you from inside and your body falling to pieces from the adamant cold outside. Feeling ripped apart; torn between a thousand different directions and at the same time so tightly pushed together; tied so hardly in a blanket of loneliness and betrayal.

He sits. Opposite me. His hands folded in his lap, the pale skin of his wrist glistening from under his leather jacket. I can see his eyes. Staring, but not staring straight. Staring into a world he kept a secret, one that he won’t let me see. Still he’s taking me, forcing me to go with him but won’t show me where. He’ll keep me in my blue blanket and tie me to his side. Blind, deaf and silent. And I can still see his eyes. His damn dark eyes full of damn dark secrets.

Only his eyes. No shapes, no light, no me.

I used to see myself reflecting in his eyes. But that was a long time ago. He had blue eyes then. But now the colour has faded. Gray as the early fog over lost forests in winter his eyes have turned. Gray as the image you see, when you blink your tears away and you don’t want to see anything but see everything but not colourful, just grey.

He got anything-eyes, unfocused and horrible anything-eyes. And they are glancing right through me.

“You okay?” – his voice as soft as silk, like a warm breeze almost caressing my cheeks, like a sigh that welcomes me home safe – but yet too far away to be more than a whisper; more than just a vague idea of a touch that lost it’s tenderness.

And his eyes of gray.

“I’m fine” – I say. Fine. Almost the voice of someone else. I can feel the weight of the secret he just threw from his shoulders on mine. His eyes saying somewhat of an apology. Theese gray, muddy anything-eyes, without light, without me, without love.

And they used to be blue.

Blue.